


Late Night, With Cow

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-06
Updated: 2008-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter muses about his new life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night, With Cow

Formaldehyde and dung with the faintest whiff of burnt electronics.  The cow is new, but the others smack of childhood.  It should be ginger cookies and wool shirts, not this.  Why am I here?  Everyday, a startled glance up to see test tubes and oscilloscopes and ... him.  Then rein in the sudden urge to run _run, god, why aren't you running?_  There isn't anywhere to run, now is there?  Hadn't that been proven?  The middle of the damn desert on the other side of the planet hadn't been far enough.  Manic laughter threatens, tightening my throat, burning my eyes.  _No... that's not laughter._

Walter is napping... or something.  Eyes closed to let the machine of his mind better process the effluvia of data, the cascade, the noise.  Damn his eyes anyway, this is all his fault.  Neither of us should be here, Walter least of all.  Locked away, yes, better.  The world safe from him. _ And him safe from the world._  We both should go back to where we were before... _Dank cell, the stench of industrial cleaner and fear and the jumble of voices..._ no, NO he deserved that!  Won't feel sorry for him.  Can't.  He goes there and I go free. _ And her?_

Not my problem, stupid voice-in-my-head.  God, is this how Walter started that tumble down the slope of insanity?  Arguing with his own mind?  I just need some sleep.  Need to not be woken up by Walter for one damn night.  To not dream of corpses ripped open by old-man-babies.  To not dream of being chased through the desert by old-man-babies driving station wagons with bad chokes, waking in a cold sweat, terrified and bemused. _The other dreams are better aren't they?_  Yes... no!  No, dammit.

He's not napping.  His mouth is moving.  God, he mutters to himself.  Need to get him his own room at the motel.   Can I get him his own room?  We should rent an apartment.  Two apartments.  I could just leave him here.  With the cow.  The cow could come to the apartment and Walter could stay here.  The cow probably doesn't talk to himself.  Would I still get my deposit back if my roommate was a cow?  How about a mad scientist?  Either is liable to trash the place, one way or another.  She needs Walter, why isn't she babysitting the old man?  Walter had been milking the cow.  Not a he... she.  She, the cow, labcow.  So far no cows in my dreams.  _Certainly not..._

Does she dream of cows and old-man-babies?  Knives in the back and melting boyfriends?  Only a hallucinogenic cocktail and a electrode to the brain stem stand in the way of finding out.  Works both ways, though, doesn't it?  A meshed experience ending in embarrassment for all and an inability to meet her eyes.  What was I thinking, reaching for her hand like that.  She looked so lost, what was I supposed to do?  It was just comfort, drawing her back from where she had wandered.  _Not at all what you wanted._  Not doing that again, so you can just shut up.  Not going to make a fool of myself.

He's watching TV.  The sound's off and he's watching cartoons.  Is he reading their lips?  Can you read the lips of cartoons?  He's got the captions turned on.  No, how would he turn the captions on, he can't work the damn microwave.  Walter looks lost, too.  Bewildered by the adjustable shower head, by the cell phone, by the laptop.

“Walter, let's go.”  He's confused, not sure where he is or where he's going.  Learning to hide it though, learning to wait, to let it come back.  He doesn't like looking foolish any more than I do.


End file.
